Page 48

ROMAN

It didn’t take Gwyn long to fall asleep on my chest, one of her fingertips dancing up the vines inked over my skin.

I’ve lost track of time, watching her inhale and exhale, listening to her heart beat with mine.

The sky is lightening through her window, but sunrise is still a ways off.

I don’t know how long I’ve been laying here, letting myself pretend this was just one of those oddly comfortable nights after her Ascension.

Curled up against me in my bed, she’d fallen asleep comfortably nearly every time we slept together.

At the time, I’d thought it was because she found my presence comforting. Now, I don’t know.

She adjusts in her sleep, moving onto her back before rolling to lie on her other side.

Gwyn assumes the fetal position. Curved back and tucked knees, she looks so small folded into herself.

She never rolled away from me during those early days.

In fact, Gwyn was usually the first to sleep and the last to wake, one leg thrown over me and tucked between my own. I’d had to peel her off me.

I don’t like that she’s rolled over now, and it pisses me off that it bothers me.

I pull the sheet over her. She’s still naked, and even with her vampiric tolerance, she has goosebumps. Gently, I rub my hand over her arm then down her side and over the swell of her hip. She stretches out a bit, but she doesn’t come back over to lay on my chest. I don’t like it.

After we finished, I wanted to clean her body.

I wanted to take care of her and kiss her and hold her, and fuck if that isn’t insane.

Instead, I opted to stay still, holding her close as she traced the designs on my chest. I’m not sure if it’s cowardice or self preservation that makes me keep my distance.

Now that she’s moved, I sit up on the side of the bed. My beard smells like her, and washing my face is a top priority. I need to clear my mind, and I don’t know how the fuck I’m supposed to do that if I stay here. The room reeks of sex, and I’m sure the rest of the penthouse isn’t any better.

But I can’t go home like this.

I can’t walk into my house and risk my brother scenting her on me.

When I fucked her at Sanguivita, I’d gone back to Margot’s afterwards to shower.

Even then, I’d smoked half a pack to dull any lingering scent before I went inside my own home.

After our conversation, I have to wonder where Remy stands with Gwyn.

He hadn’t seemed too concerned about her, and I don’t know why.

Perhaps it’s because he interacted more with Hale and Sasha or because he doesn’t mind her that much, or maybe the worry over his stepdaughter had been enough to overshadow the rest. Or maybe it’s as simple as their shared ache to end it all.

My brother’s mental state is far too fragile to talk about any of this.

We haven’t even discussed what happened during the year he was held captive.

He knows a little bit about how things with Gwyn transpired, and I don’t know if Margot told him or if it was someone else.

But he clearly has an inkling. And yet, I know very little about his captivity.

It didn’t seem like something I should ask about, so I’ve been waiting for him to bring it up.

Before Gwyn released him to me, I sometimes wondered what kind of torture he’d endured at her hand.

But now, I’m pretty sure it was minimal.

Considering how thoroughly she’d adjusted his accommodations, making it impossible for him to even hurt himself, let alone do anything worse, I doubt she tormented him.

At least, not any more than I would have if I were her. Less, I’m sure.

Part of me hopes the precautions she took with that apartment only came after she started caring for me.

Maybe she treated him like shit for most of it, and then whatever affection she had for me caused her to consider his well being more thoroughly.

But I just can’t see it—neither Remy being tortured for a year nor Gwyn doing it.

I don’t wish he was tortured, but I wish I had more reason to hate her than I do.

Because I’m headed so far in a different direction than I ought to be, and I don’t know what the hell to do with that.

I need to go the fuck home, but I don’t want to disturb Remy.

Though he’d been devastated to learn of Kayla’s death, when I left him earlier, he’d been in good spirits.

I don’t want to risk the fragile peace he’s found.

Even if he didn’t scent her, he would realize I was gone all night.

He’s not stupid, so I’m sure he’d have questions.

And what the hell could I even say?

Hey bro, I’m in love with Gwyn. Is that a problem?

Remy, I hope it’s okay, but that woman who made me think you were dead? Well, I fell in love with her before I knew the truth, and despite her lies and bullshit, I’m still in love with her.

Because that’s what this is, and I’m not too proud to recognize it anymore.

I am in love with her, as surely as I was when my uncle showed me that picture of her sitting in my lap.

Then, the realization had been soft and sweet, like apples and honey.

Now, there’s a sharp tinge to it, like bitter whisky.

But I’d be lying if I said it didn’t enhance the taste of her on my tongue.

My anger stems from wounded ego, and I feel pretty fucking pathetic thinking about it. If it was more than that, I would’ve already killed her and moved on. It would’ve been easy to do, but I’m incapable. I have my brother back, and for the moment I have control of the coven I always wanted.

I’m free from every bloodsworn oath I’ve ever taken.

She gave me nearly everything I could have wanted—except her.

But that’s on me, isn’t it? She made it pretty fucking clear where she stood tonight.

Part of me wonders if it was some sort of deathbed confession, but I can’t let my mind wander down that path. She promised me.

Promises only mean something from people you trust to keep them though. And I don’t know if I trust her yet. But I think I have to forgive her. She took it too far from the jump, but I hadn’t exactly given her a good reason to confide in me, not with the shit I said to push her away.

There are two endings to our story. I forgive her and I have her and she’s mine or I don’t—and the second path ends in death, one way or another.

Slowly, I stand, trying not to disturb the bed. It’s incredibly emasculating to tiptoe across a room, but that’s what I do, making my way out of there without setting off an avalanche of unpacked boxes.

Zuul waits at the entrance to the bedroom, tail wagging with an open mouth. I’m afraid he’s going to wake her, but he quietly pads down the hallway, certain I’m following him. Even her fucking dog has me whipped.

“Where the fuck are my pants?” I murmur, wanting to find my shit and go.

I’ll stay at the compound tonight, but I can’t stay here in this penthouse.

I need some time to think. I find my pants on the ground beside the couch and step into them.

I kicked my shoes off before Gwyn sucked me off, but one has disappeared beneath the couch.

Once I find it, I have to fish my t-shirt out between two couch cushions.

Getting dressed after a confusing fuck session, especially in Gwyn’s chaos, is humbling to an annoying degree.

My thoughts continue to run rampant as I prepare to leave, and I hurry myself along as I grow tempted to wake her to say goodbye. I have to get my shit together and decide what the fuck I’m going to do, even if every instinct is telling me not to leave her tonight.

Telling me not to leave her ever .

How the fuck can I control this coven, side by side with Gwyn, the woman who stole it?

Not a single vampire under my control would respect me.

Although, other than that night at Sanguivita, I’ve avoided any kind of responsibility with the coven since Gwyn took down my father.

Honestly, I have no fucking clue what they think of all this.

Hell, for all I know, they could respect her for her cunning and want her to assume my father’s role.

Walking to the elevator, devoid of wards now that Hale has Ascended, I realize I don’t have to decide right this minute.

I can take my time. I can wait to talk to Remy.

As long as she keeps her promise. I hadn’t said the words clearly.

I hadn’t told her not to kill herself, but she knew what I meant.

She promised me.

And if that turns out to be another lie? Well, I suppose I won’t have a moral quandary then.

She’ll be dead, and I’ll be fucked forever.